


rats in cages (vampire au)

by lucigucci



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Angst, Animal Death, Blood, Blood Drinking, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Character Turned Into Vampire, Human/Vampire Relationship, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Red Plague (The Arcana), Self-Hatred, Starvation, Vampire Bites, Vampire Turning, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:08:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 9,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27863594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucigucci/pseuds/lucigucci
Summary: a local magician volunteers to serve at the royal holding facility for vampires and finds that his job might not be as cut-and-dry as he thought when he meets a certain disgraced doctor with a thirst for blood.
Relationships: Apprentice/Portia Devorak, Asra (The Arcana)/Original Character(s), Asra/Julian Devorak, Julian Devorak/Lucio (The Arcana)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 19





	1. [entry] november 18

I should begin by saying that I am by no means a trained doctor. I have dabbled in the scientific field, but only now have I been thrust in-- far over my head, I should add. This work needs all the able hands we can find and, while I am not practiced or studied, I need to be here. My medical notes will probably serve better as a horror story instead of something to be held in high respect. 

Even so, I carry on. Countess Satrinava is a personal friend of mine and I can’t disappoint her. Not only is she my friend, she is the last remnant of Vesuvian culture, after the Count went into hiding and left her to fend for herself. (Good riddance, I told her). I do this as a favor to her and to my partner, who was diagnosed with the plague a few months ago and whom I have not seen since. Even as I write this in my brand new office, I try not to let my feelings get in my way. Emotions have no place in a pandemic. I will not linger on him.

My patient, I am told, was apprehended trying to escape the royal palace after his diagnosis. The Countess tells me that he was a good friend of hers. Apparently, he was a doctor, studying patients like I am now, in an attempt to understand this disease. 

I suppose he will still be useful to his profession even in this state. 

(Haha. Medical humor. Am I qualified yet?) 

My good friend Dr. Crow told me that she worked under his supervision for a few weeks. She doesn’t remember much of him, but she has been seeing his younger sister, so that should reflect well on the family as a whole.

I have not met him in person yet. I’m not sure if I should be afraid or not. After all, at the end of the day, he is only a man. He will be restrained and kept in captivity like the rest of them. They are bringing him to me in a few days, and by that time, I hope I am ready.


	2. [entry] november 21

I was a flurry of nerves while I waited. The guards told me they would come fetch me when he was safely in his cell, and to stay in my cramped little office until that time. They found me pacing and mumbling to myself. I could hardly keep my notes steady in my arms as I walked with them.

Our offices are located under the palace to avoid cross-contamination with the outside world. Nobody cared to explain to me why or how these huge stone tunnels came to be, or who converted them into the central hub for plague research, and part of me doesn’t want to ask. We have our own little kingdom where the sun doesn’t shine. Now that I think about it, it’s the perfect environment for our patients to thrive. I can’t tell if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.

Jail cells have been haphazardly constructed around these tunnels, few and far between to keep the patients from communicating with each other. It seems barbaric but it is crucial to our cause. In one of these cells, just a few steps from my office, is the reason I have been brought here. 

He was hunched over in his single rickety chair, head buried in his hands. His loose white shirt hung over his bony pointed frame like a stole over a cross. One black boot bounced up and down to release his tension. When I stopped in front of his cell, I asked the guards to leave us, and he froze at once. He didn’t lift his head until the footsteps of the guards had faded away.

“Charming little place you’ve got here,” he said with a sneer. “Homey. Quaint. Though, I could do with a bit more color, if you know what I mean.”

“Are you Dr. Julian Devorak?”

He tossed his hair back. In the dim lantern light, it shone red, caught in his curls. His thin lips twisted back to reveal a pair of ivory fangs. “In the flesh,” he replied. He stood up from his seat and bowed to me. The chains around his wrists clinked.

But I refused to be swayed. Most victims of this particular disease rely on charms and wiles to get their way, and fresh out of heartbreak, I have a better chance than most to resist. “Shall I call you Dr. Devorak, or Julian?” I asked curtly.

“Whichever you prefer. I think we’ll be spending a lot of time together, so we may as well get comfortable.” He straightened back up and struck a jaunty pose, as though we were at a singles bar.

I scowled. “Dr. Devorak, then. I assume you know why you’re here.”

He leaned against the bars and folded his arms over his chest. “Explain it to me.”

“You used to work down here. You know very well why you are here.” I flipped open to the checklist my supervisor gave me. My pen taps idly at the first empty box on the page. “We’ll go over the basics first, and then I would like your full cooperation in our standard experiments and questions for as long as you are kept here. I want you to be honest with me for the good of the country.”

“What if I’m not honest?”

I looked up from the list, startled. “I beg your pardon?”

He winked at me. One of his eyes reflected in the dark, like a cat’s. “What if I’m not honest? What will you do?”

“I-- I-- why would you have a reason to lie in the first place?” I spluttered back.

“What’s your name? I don’t recognize you.”

I glanced around the hall. We were entirely alone. “I don’t have to tell you my name,” I hissed.

The doctor shook his head and mock-sighed. “It hardly seems fair that you know my name and I don’t know yours. What am I supposed to call you?”

I have no title, and he must have known it somehow. Many of our colleagues have studied for years upon years while I am completely out of my element here. I averted my eyes from his and mumbled into the page. “Just… don’t address me.”

“What?”

“My name should be of no importance to you.”

Dr. Devorak sat back down again. His eyes refused to leave me. They are deep grey, framed by long auburn lashes, shadowed by his hair which tumbles over his face if it isn’t brushed back. “Give me the questions. I’ll answer to the best of my ability.”

He did. Please refer to the checklist for my notes. His symptoms are normal for someone who has been infected for the length of time he indicated to me. The only thing that struck me odd was that he refused to elaborate on the person who passed the disease to him. Most patients, I hear, are eager to give their attacker’s name and description to us, so we can pass it onto the topmost Vesuvian authorities for our extensive Wanted list. When I asked Dr. Devorak about it, he grew oddly quiet and simply told me, “I can’t say right now.” I pressed on, wondering when he would be able to tell me, and he refused to elaborate.

I sit in my office now, organizing my notes and thinking the day over. All I want is to see the sun again when I return to my home and forget until tomorrow.


	3. [entry] december 1

Today, I tried to get to know him. I visit every day, of course, but until today I hadn’t plucked up the courage to ask the doctor anything beyond the questions that were handed to me in neat checklists. I suppose I felt bad for him. His cell leaves him no privacy, no entertainment, not even a toilet. Inmates are taken deeper underground to use the bathroom three times a day under heavy supervision. If I am the only constant in his life, I should at least make an effort for his sake. It isn’t his fault he was put in this situation.

When I approached, he seemed to brighten up, or as much as he could with his pallid complexion. “Hello again,” he remarked with a smile.

“My name is Asra Alnazar,” I announced.

He raised his eyebrows. “It took you long enough.”

“I’m not a doctor, but I want you to treat me like one. I’m doing this for personal reasons and the Countess has found me qualified.”

Dr. Devorak rose from his chair. His bones creaked and cracked with each movement, and I winced. “Mmn-- well, Asra Alnazar, the pleasure is all mine. Really.” He approached me, or as much as he could with the shackles binding his wrists. “You’re just about the only friendly face down here. I look forward to your every visit with me.”

I smiled politely and took a few steps forward, close to the bars. “I’m sorry for your current state, Dr. Devorak, I really am.”

“That makes two of us.”

I hesitated, wondering if I was overstepping my boundaries, but my curiosity overtook my pride. “You don’t have to answer this, but-- I’ve never seen any food brought to you. How do you, er… eat?”

He chuckled. I couldn’t help but notice that a thin layer of stubble has coated his chin since I first saw him. “They don’t bring us any food, do they? Dreadfully impolite of them, though I can’t say I blame them for trying to starve us to death. I’ve taken to catching rats and throwing them into the sewer when I’m done.”

“Ah… I see.” An involuntary shudder coursed through my body. I imagined his white spider hands wringing the neck of an especially fat squealing sewer rat, and his gleaming teeth tearing through its moldy fur. 

“It isn’t so bad. It isn’t ideal, certainly, but it isn’t so bad.”

“Dr. Devorak, no creature should be subjected to eating rats from the royal sewer.”

He tried on a cocksure grin, but it looked queasy. “Well, now. That’s nice of you to say. I don’t want you to mourn for me, but I wouldn’t say no if you wanted to put in a good word for us at the palace.”

I placed a gentle hand on the bars. “I’ll do what I can.”

I realized this may have been a bad idea when his stormy eyes widened. One of his hands drifted up from his side, then halted when the chain ran out. I’m sorry to say that I flinched away from him. “Ah-- aha,” he murmured. “Forgive me, Mx. Alnazar, I forgot my manners. I’ve been very lonely as of late.” He withdrew into the shadows of his cage like a monster of the night. His eyes still bore into me, still reflected, still pierced through my heart.

“It’s… right. Well. It’s what we have cages for.”

I should never have said that. I despised the way he looked at me, and how he shrank away from me, as though I had struck him. “It is indeed,” he replied softly. “How right you are.”

I turned away from him, ashamed. “No, I-- I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t mean it. I’ve been locked up too, in a sense, and it makes me… er, temperamental.” 

“It’s no trouble. We’re friends, aren’t we? We should accept the good and the bad.”

At the word ‘friends’, my breath caught in my throat. I had not considered Dr. Devorak my friend in any sense of the word. In my time since my dear partner disappeared, I had almost forgotten what the word meant, and had even shunned my closest acquaintances in favor of chasing the cure to this godforsaken plague. And yet… my heart hurt for him. It would be a disservice to every victim of the plague if I were to turn him down. So, I met his eyes and nodded. “Yes, you’re right. Friends accept the good and the bad, come what may.”

Just like that, his good mood rose to the surface. The hallway felt light and breezy now that the stifling mood was lifted. “I can’t tell you how much I’ve wanted a friend through all this,” Dr. Devorak croaked.

“Me too. Nobody should have to go through this world on their own.”

“Mx. Alnazar-- Asra? May I call you Asra? Why are you down here if you aren’t a doctor?”

My hands clench into stiff fists. “I’d rather not talk about that right now,” I answered.

“Ah. I’m sorry if I spoke out of turn.”

“You didn’t.” I stepped away from the bars, but I gave him a comforting smile. “And yes, Asra is just fine. I need to go now. I have to record the day’s events.”

Dr. Devorak steps back into the light and inclines his head in a little bow. “Thank you, Asra. Until tomorrow.”

“Until tomorrow.”

As I write, I feel a levity in my chest that I haven’t known for months. Perhaps this is part of the doctor’s cursed charm, but part of me doesn’t think so. I feel compelled to reach out to Dr. Crow and invite her over for a cup of tea. The warmth of connection is buzzing in my fingertips. I will end my notes here for tonight.


	4. [entry] december 4

There is not much to report today. Dr. Devorak is doing well, and, even more surprising, I am too. I brought him a book today to keep him company when I am away. (I visited the Countess’ library and borrowed it without asking). When I presented it to him, his entire countenance lightened. “Are you sure?” he kept asking, over and over. “I don’t need this, I really don’t, if you need it back--”

“Dr. Devorak, I think if anybody needs something to do, it’s you. Take it.” I fit it between the bars of his cell and slid it across the floor for him to pick up and examine. I noticed that he looked thinner and gaunter than ever, and I wondered if rats were growing scarce. His hollow cheekbones are more hollow still. I can see the blue veins under his paper-thin skin. 

He didn’t have to squint in the darkness to read the title. “Discourse on the Nature of Humanity…. This isn’t meant to be a slight to me, is it?”

I realized my mistake and tried to rectify myself. “I didn’t mean-- I didn’t realize! I thought you would find it interesting! Please don’t take any offense, I--”

“I’m joking,” he teased. “It does look interesting. Thank you, Asra.”

“Is there anything else you’d like to occupy yourself while you’re down here?”

He tapped his scruffy chin in thought. “Mm… I could think of a million things.”

I grinned. “Whores, right?”

“Prahaha! You took the words right out of my mouth! A million whores, stuffed like fish in a tin into this teensy little cell.” He put his arms out to the sides and rocked back and forth to touch either side of his prison. “Oh, we’d have a merry time, the whores and I. We could discuss this lovely book and contemplate existence together.”

Laughing, I sat down on the ground, making myself comfortable. “That’s what they’re for, I hear,” I continued.

“That’s right.” Dr. Devorak pulled his chair closer to me and sat down as well. His eyes were sparking with life in his otherwise corpse-like face.

“But... really, I’m serious. I can’t imagine how boring it must be stuck in that cell day after day. I wish I could do more for you than offer you my company.”

The doctor grinned down at me. I no longer focus on his fangs when he smiles at me-- the fact that he is able to smile is comfort enough to me. “Don’t underestimate yourself. I wouldn’t trade your visits for anything in the world; maybe even freedom. After all, if I escaped the palace, or if I was never transformed at all, we never would have met.”

I wished I could embrace him. I stilled the impulse by holding my own hands in my lap. “That’s true. That’s a nice way to think about it.”

He paused, then continued, “do you have someone at home, Asra?”

“I did. I don’t, now.”

“Ah… my deepest condolences.”

“He was taken by the plague. I tried to hide him from the palace, but in doing so, I’m afraid I… I invited some unscrupulous characters into our lives.” I swallowed. I hadn’t spoken about this to anybody, not even Dr. Crow, who is my closest confidant. “One day I came home and he was gone.”

Dr. Devorak let out a low sigh. “That sounds dreadful. He didn’t try to, er… turn you, then?”

My fingernails dug into my own flesh to distract me from the throbbing in my heart. “Yes. He did.”

“And you kept him in hiding with you anyway?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Of course. I’m sorry if I crossed a line, I just want to get to know you better.” He made a motion to get up and perhaps embrace me, then remembered he was chained and sat back down. “It’s brave of you to be down here, with so many victims. Any one of them could have taken him from you.”

“I try not to think about it. I just want to prevent what happened to me from happening to anyone else.”

He nodded and smiled. “That’s very admirable, Asra, and I agree completely.”

A question popped into my head, one that had lingered but I hadn’t wanted to ask for fear of scaring him. After such an emotional topic, though, I supposed it would be fair of him to reveal something back to me. “I know that some people took the disease into their bodies willingly,” I began cautiously. “And I remember you not wanting to tell me about whoever passed it to you…”

He tensed up at once. Even so, he answered, and for that I was grateful. “I’m afraid you might hate me if I told you the truth,” he replied.

“Then you were compliant?”

“I-- I don’t know. I don’t know what I was. I was weak, and he--” The doctor realized his mistake and clapped a hand over his mouth. His next words came out muffled. “Forgive me, I-- I’ve said too much!”

I scooted closer to him. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but you’re safe here, Dr. Devorak. I won’t hurt you and I won’t let the guards hurt you either.”

He shook his head and cast his gaze downward to his feet. “I know that… but I’m not ready. I’ll tell you in time.”

“That’s alright, you don’t have to.”

The conversation tapered off after that. Now, I am haunted with questions about his past, as he must be haunted with mine. After this ordeal, I hope we may speak freely together, above ground in the sunshine, side by side, as friends do.


	5. [entry] december 7

I can scarcely write. Adrenaline is flooding my veins and I have to make an effort to breathe. Everything was going so well. We were getting along better than any plague victim and human could possibly hope to. He had even convinced me that we were friends.

But I should stop stalling. Now that I am alone, I can breathe easier and fortify my thoughts against the storm. We were having a conversation about the weather-- not as basic as you might think, considering that the doctor has not seen the sky since he was captured. He had inquired if the winter was coming along early or late this year.

I didn’t remember. I wondered if I had written it down, so I took my journal from my pocket and thumbed through the pages. That was when my finger slipped and the blood began.

It wasn’t much, really, not much more than a little bead at the pad of my index finger. Fool that I am, I thought nothing of it. He had lured me into such a sense of security... I merely hissed through my teeth at the sudden pain and muttered an apology. 

When he didn’t reply, I glanced up from these very pages, and an icy shock blew through my veins. His eyes were round and deranged, pupils blown wide with want. Every inch of his body was taut and ready to attack. Realizing my mistake, I scrambled to replace my journal in my pocket and cover my finger with my sleeve. Every spell that might help me had fled from my mind to be replaced with deafening silence that rang in my ears.

We were frozen for a few awful moments. He was the first to move, unwinding from his predator’s poise into something serpentine and inhuman. His thin lips curled up, parting, just so, just enough to reveal the thin strings of saliva connecting his jaws. “Poor little thing,” he rasped, taking a careful step forward. I didn’t feel the need to retreat until he slipped his thin wrists through his cuffs and let them clatter to the floor. He was _free_. He had been starving, wasting away, until he could fit his bony wrists through his shackles.

Dr. Devorak wrapped both trembling lily-white hands around the prison bars. My feet were utterly rooted to the floor in terror. “Now, lover, isn’t that dreadful? How papercuts sting, how they linger. Come, bring it to me, and I’ll take a look; I am a doctor, after all.”

I found that my hammering heart wouldn’t allow me to speak, so I shook my head. I willed my stubborn feet to carry me far away from this damned place.

“Now, pet, mustn’t be shy! Just a bit closer!” His bony arm stretched between the bars and reached for me. His fingers twitched inches from my body. “Ngh-- darling, dove, dearest--”

“Dr. D-devorak--”

“Please-- by the Gods!” he groaned. He pressed his body up to the cage, as though he could squeeze through and take me in his arms. 

I gathered the courage to stumble backward from his groping hand. “Stop! Get back! I’ll call the guards!” I exclaimed.

The doctor made no effort to hide his sobs from me. He looked beyond defeated, collapsed like a tent, and yet the very definition of desperate. A dribble of saliva fell from his lips to the floor. His words came out slurred, drunk with hunger. “Sweet,” he whimpered. “You must be so sweet-- as sweet as you smell, my tender lamb, are you?”

“I mean it! They’ll tighten your restraints and add another one around your throat!”

His hand fell from the air, retreating back to meet its brother at the bars of the cage, clinging to the iron as though it might give him comfort. Seeing him so pious, my heart softened. I looked around to check for guards again. When I was sure we were alone, I knelt down on the ground on one knee to meet his eyes. Dr. Devorak whimpered. “I am a monster,” he choked out.

“No-- no, you aren’t. You can’t say that.”

“I am! I h-haven’t drank from anyone, not since he cursed me to be this way-- I thought I was above it! But rats are so filthy, and reek of pestilence, and you-- oh, you, Asra, you!” A dreamlike smile glazed his face. “I would die to have you! I-I would kill fo-- fo-r-- ahh--!”

I shushed him as his voice rose with feverish excitement. I so wanted to separate my feelings for him, for Julian Devorak, from my terror at his current state, and yet the two were intertwined, impossible opposites urging me to stay and to run all at once.

“It couldn’t hurt Asra my jewel, just one kiss for your finger? To m-make it better?”

“You can’t do this. You’re better than this.”

Dr. Devorak heaved a sigh. It was more aroused than discouraged, and it made my heart skip a beat. I must have been blushing because he licked his lips at my distress. “Asra, lovely,” he purred.

“Dr. Devo--”

“Julian, my heart! Julian! My name-- Ilya! From Nevivon! Oh hells, have my name, my everything!”

Tears welled up in my throat before I could stop them. “I need to go, Julian,” I whispered.

“Asra, no-- help me! Please! Please, I’m d-dy-- dying!” He flung his arm out again in an attempt to flail around for me, but I inched away. My vision was foggy with tears.

“I’m sorry! I-- I’ll try to bring you something, alright? Tomorrow! I promise!”

“C-come-- tomorrow--” He shriveled into himself, hanging his head, crying now. “G-gods help me-- Asra, Asra-- my angel-- forg-ive me--”

I couldn’t bear to stay for a second longer. I half-ran, half-stumbled back to the safety of my office, haunted by Julian’s unrestrained cries. 

He has quieted now. I wish I could go back and make sure he is alright, and give some flimsy excuse to the guards as to why he is no longer shackled to the wall, but I am not brave enough.


	6. [entry] december 8

I’m happy to say that Julian and I are on good terms again. As I promised, soon after our last encounter, I visited the Countess and asked if she had the authority to give our patients food. She had not been informed of this injustice, she told me, and assured me that she would put a meal plan into motion. In the meantime, she offered me the royal kitchen to use at my disposal, for Julian’s sake. 

I’m embarrassed to say that I haven’t cooked a real meal in months. My partner did most of the cooking, and after he disappeared, I didn’t have the energy to eat anything besides stale sandwiches and the occasional cup of tea. Even so, before I went down into the holding cells, I tested my cooking skills by preparing a slice of pork. (It wasn’t hard. I more threatened it with a flame than cooked it, and the seasonings were for decoration). I brought this bloody plate down with me into the depths. 

More than a few wild eyes from the shadows roved over me as I passed. I paid them no mind. 

When I reached Julian’s cell, he was curled up in the corner in a fetal position, but unfolded when he noticed my presence. “Is that--”

“Did they notice your shackles?”

He licked his lips, unable to meet my eyes for focusing on the slab of meat in my hands. “No-- not that I know-- Asra--”

Without a word, I raised the plate up to the cage, and he wasted no time in lunging for it, clutching it in both hands, and digging in. I was thankful that he didn’t use his fangs. He ate like a normal man, albeit wild and messy from hunger. The entire piece was gone in a matter of seconds. When he was done, he collapsed back into his chair, chest heaving, trembling all over. “I couldn’t eat last night,” he rasped. “I couldn’t sleep. Rats were repulsive to me, at the thought of you.”

I shivered. “Oh. I, um.”

“I was horrible to you. You must despise me, and you would be right to do so. You shouldn’t have fed me. I ought to die.”

“Julian, you can’t say things like that!”

“Why not?” he barked. He jerked his head up at me. That deranged look was back, just like when he first smelled my blood. “I’m not good for anything except harming innocent people! Why do you think your supervisors starve us, hm? They want us dead!”

“Julian, listen to me. None of this is your fault. You have a good heart, and that’s what matters.” I put the plate down beside the cell and approached him. If he tried to grab me, I was well within arm’s reach of the bars, and both of us knew it. “Yesterday was a fluke. I trust you to be rational and kind.” Maybe it was foolish, but I held out my hand just outside the bars. He flicked a weary eye between my fingers and my face. “We’re friends, aren’t we?” I asked softly.

Julian stood up from the chair. His movements were slow and purposeful, as though he feared to startle me. He slipped his fingers between mine. Each of his joints are icy and bony, death’s hands, and it took all my strength to keep a straight face as he took my hand in both of his own. We stayed this way for a few excruciating seconds. Then, to my horror, he lifted my hand up to his lips, ever deliberate. His breath chilled my skin and sent tremors down my arm. Still, I did not move. I held my breath and waited. He turned my hand over to expose my inner wrist, which he examined with methodical delicacy and barely-restrained hunger. 

“I could bite you here,” he noted, and met my eyes. “You know that, don’t you?”

I tried to breathe. “I want to t-trust you. Show me that I can trust you.”

Without breaking our gaze, he bowed his head and pressed his lips to where my pulse fluttered with horror. His mouth was just as cold as his hands. And then the moment ended, and he released me, and I gasped with relief. My hand tingled with residual cold and nerves. 

“I trust you, Asra,” Julian told me.

“And I-- yes, I trust you too!” I let out an anxious chuckle, and he returned the favor. The break of mirth lifted some of the tension from our shoulders.

“Ha-- there we are, then! Friends again!” He grinned and sat back down in his chair. “Perhaps I was a fool to think-- oh, it doesn’t matter. Thank you for returning, and with food no less.”

I resumed my usual position criss-cross on the floor. “The Countess is going to make some changes around here, you have my word.”

“What a relief! You are a miracle, Asra, an absolute miracle!”

It feels good to know that we are on speaking terms. The rest of our conversation today was inconsequential, but pleasant. I could not say when I last enjoyed small talk so much. Everything he describes feels magical and so unsuited to the prison he is trapped in. It made our situation feel so very... normal, of all things.

I look forward to seeing him tomorrow.


	7. [entry] december 10

He seemed distant today. I couldn’t put my finger on why. He was short with his answers, and refused to look me in the eye. He has been this way for a few days now, but today I felt the effects of it more acutely than ever. I can’t bear to think that I might have angered him, but I’m too afraid to ask.

In better news, the Countess stopped me on my way in to work and told me that she passed a motion to give the patients better living conditions. I thanked her profusely. It takes a small weight off my mind to know that Julian will be taken care of.

I shouldn’t be worrying so much about someone, not in this way, not like I worried about Aro. Perhaps I am in too deep.


	8. [entry] december 12

He asked me the strangest question today, seemingly out of nowhere. I was reviewing my notes from my seat on the ground while he paced in his cell. “Did you know the Count?” he inquired.

I raised my eyebrows, confused, and looked up. “Yes, I did. Why do you ask?”

“You mentioned you were friends with the Countess, so I wondered. How close to him were you?”

“Not close at all. I couldn’t stand the man while he lived at the palace. I’m rather glad he’s gone, wherever he is now.”

“Mm.”

Seeing the thoughtful look upon his face, I continued, “did you know him?”

“Ah… yes, I knew him. Or, I thought I did. I was his personal doctor for a spell after he was first diagnosed.”

My mouth fell open. “I know you! I saw you! Back when we thought the disease was airborne, and doctors wore those ridiculous beaked masks!”

He smiled and gestured in front of his nose, as if he were running his fingers along one of those pointed black beaks. “They were ridiculous indeed! I knew I had seen you before, I just couldn’t place where-- you were with the Countess, while he laid in bed demanding to be entertained!”

“I was in the corner, sulking, yes,” I corrected. “I tried to keep my distance from him.”

“Good Gods. I don’t blame you, though, I agree that he can be a bit much sometimes. We were friends for years, you see, back when he was a mercenary and I a travelling nurse.”

“So you know how he gets.”

“I know better than anyone.” Julian’s smile falters and he stops pacing. He has not met my eyes for longer than a few seconds for days now. “Er, ahem. But that was a long time ago.”

I sensed that there was more to this story that he wasn’t letting on. I tried to encourage him to go on with a remark of, “do you miss him?”

He still did not look at me. He seemed to have remembered something, and pulled his muscles tight to his body. “I can’t say,” he said at last, and that was that.

I have this terrible feeling that something will happen, though I can’t explain what or why. For now, all I can do is hope that my premonition is wrong.


	9. [entry] december 13

I don’t know what to say anymore. He is gone.

When I arrived to work today, the guards pulled me aside before I could step into my office. They told me he had all but vanished into thin air the night before, leaving nothing behind but the book I lent him and his empty shackles.

The interrogation seemed to last for hours. They pleaded with me to see my journal, but I refused. I told them that I didn’t know how he slipped free, and no of course I didn’t give him any of my own blood, and I only fed him a few times to ensure he wouldn’t starve to death. Upon seeing my distress, they reassured me that the army is searching the city for him as we spoke, and that he surely can’t do too much damage before he is recaptured. 

When they left me alone with my thoughts, I barricaded myself in my office, unable to contain my own emotions. Even as I write, inexplicably I feel like crying. How did he get out? Why did he not tell me that he was leaving, if he trusted me like he said? What is he doing now that he is free? Will I ever see him again? And how, how could he do this to me?

I’m leaving this journal here. It seems that I have no need for it anymore. I’m going to go home and… I don’t know. This is my final entry.


	10. who are you, really?

The hooded figure with his hand clamped around Julian’s wrist like an iron shackle stops so suddenly that Julian almost trips over his own overgrown feet. “Ow! Hey!” he yelps.

“Don’t be a baby, Jules. This is the place you’re looking for.”

Julian is still weak from starvation, and he doesn’t feel like arguing right now, so he preoccupies himself with checking his surroundings. The moon has freshly risen in the fading sky beside a few early stars. In the street beside the couple, passersby rush past, eager to get to their destinations out of the cold and the potential danger. Across the street on the corner, there is a seedy weathered storefront, sticking out like a rusty nail from the surrounding homes. The curtains are drawn on the first floor, but not the second, which flickers golden light. “You’re sure?” he asks his companion.

Count Lucio rolls his lined eyes. Under the shadow of his white hood, they seem to glow red in the dark. “My nose doesn’t lie. You of all people should know that by now.”

“Well, you hardly knew him, I thought--”

“I’m doing this as a favor to you, you know. You might at least act grateful.” Lucio digs the points of his golden fingers into Julian’s arm, snarling to show off his pearly fangs. “After I got you out of that dinky metal box, I didn’t have to go to all this trouble for your first time. We’d be back at the mansion right now having a grand old feast if you weren’t so damn picky.”

“I’m not picky!” Julian argues. “I just-- I need to see him again, and if this is the only way, I…”

Lucio grumbles something under his breath that Julian can’t make out. His next few words are clearer. “What’s so special about him anyway? He seems like a prissy little brat to me.”

Julian shoots him a glare, or as much as he can while shivering from cold. Lucio had lent him a coat back at the house, but the wind blew right through him all the same. “He’s one of the kindest people I’ve ever met,” Julian declares.

The Count snorts. “Ha! As if he really cares about you!”

Those words hurt more than Julian would care to say. Instead, he mutters, “it doesn’t matter, does it? I’m drinking his blood either way.”

“I wish I could be there to see the look on his face.” Lucio makes a face, eyes and mouth wide like a caricature. “Oh, my darling Jules! I thought I would never see you again! Did you stop in for a little cup of tea?”

“Stop.”

“Myyy, doctor, what long fangs you have!”

“I mean it,” Julian growls. 

Lucio sneers and releases his arm. “Touchy, touchy. What’s the matter with you tonight? You aren’t having some kind of premature guilt trip, are you?”

Julian looks toward the second floor of the shop. Wisps of steam are rising from the open windows. Perhaps he’s making dinner right now, blissfully unaware of what is about to happen. His voice comes out small and meek. “It’s wrong, Lu. It’s all so wrong.”

“But it’s _our_ wrong. Whether you like it or not, this is how life is now.”

“You can’t say that,” Julian interrupts. “This is all _your_ fault.”

“Watch your tongue or I’ll throw you out in the street for the Vesuvian police to scoop you up and throw you back underground.”

Damn. Julian swallows his pride this time and tries to look compliant. He must have done it right, because Lucio smirks and pulls him in to peck his cheek. “That’s right. You’re mine now, and don’t you dare forget it. This is a gift to you, got it? So you can’t ever say I don’t do nice stuff for you.”

Again, Julian doesn’t dare to reply at once. Lucio smells of roses and musky cologne. He takes a careful breath, then answers, “I’m ready.”

“Good. Go in through the window, there’s one open in the back.”

“How do you know that?”

Lucio taps his nose. “What did I tell you, doll? My nose is better than anyone’s. I’ll teach you sometime.”

Sometimes he forgets that Lucio is so very experienced. He earned his title as Count, no matter how egotistical or pompous he was when he got it, and he earned his reputation as the most dangerous human-hunter in Vesuvia. Julian plants an appeasing kiss on that very pointed nose before he starts across the street.

He casts a furtive glance around for anyone who might see him, but even Lucio has somehow melted into the shadows. There are no more excuses. He forges ahead. Just like Lucio said, around the back of the shop in a cramped smelly alley, one of the windows is left open, swinging in the chilly wind. Julian uses a nearby trash can as a stepping stool. One foot in, one arm, and then he drops to the floor as graceful as a cat. 

He has landed in what must be the storage closet. Boxes of dusty dried herbs and powders are stacked haphazardly around the corners of the room. In the main store, all the lights are out, but candlelight and warmth emanate from up a set of stairs. He tiptoes forward. Every nerve is on edge, every hair standing straight up.

Asra’s voice makes him freeze in his steps. “Don’t be silly, Faust,” he’s saying. He pauses, as though waiting for a response, and he must have gotten one because he continues, “you’re being paranoid. I understand why you’re worried, but it won’t help either of us.”

Julian cranes his head to try to see up the stairs. If someone else is here, he isn’t sure he could handle himself, and he would hate to ask Lucio for help. To his surprise, however, a miniature snake’s head pops up into view. They stare each other down for a few seconds before the snake retreats as quickly as it came. 

“What?!” Asra yelps. Hasty footsteps fall overhead. Someone is whispering something, and closing something with a latch. Before Julian can even start to think of a place to hide, Asra is at the head of the stairs. His downy white hair is more messy than usual as if he has been running his hands through it all day. Both enchanting violet eyes stare down at him in terror.

Julian tries to grin. “Charming little place you’ve got here,” he remarks.

“No,” Asra whimpers. “Julian, how did-- why--”

“May I come upstairs? It’s cold down here.” He gestures to the storage closet. “Forgive me for barging in without a proper invitation, but in my defense, you left a window open. Anybody could get in.”

Asra clutches the banister. He has shed the doctoral uniform of the palace, and now he wears a flowing linen nightshirt that accentuates his collarbone and the beginnings of his chest. His skin reflects candlelight from above. “Julian, you need to go,” he says.

“Ah-- n-now, why would that be?”

“The palace is in an uproar! Everyone is looking for you! And they won’t just lock you up again, they’ll--” He cuts himself off and claps a hand over his mouth. “Ah-- that’s why-- Havalana and Sprense, you can’t go back! They’ll kill you!”

“I know... I know this isn’t fair to you, my dear friend, but I had to come here.”

Asra thinks for a moment, then takes a swift step to the side to clear the stairway. “Come up. You can’t stay for long.”

Julian trots up the stairs before Asra can change his mind. The apartment is cozy, built for one, with a bed in one corner and a kitchenette in the other, and a little hall that presumably leads to a bathroom. Clothes and trinkets are strewn across the floor and a thin layer of dust has settled over the cabinets. A few dripping candles are placed on every surface where they will fit. “You know, I really was joking earlier,” he adds. “This is a very lovely home.”

“Oh-- yes, thank you. It isn’t mine, in all honesty, but. Yes. Thank you.” Asra stalks around Julian, as though he still can’t believe what he’s seeing. “How did you get out? The guards said that you didn’t pick the lock, and you couldn’t possibly have found a key-- and even if you did, how did-- and you would have to walk through the palace-- oh, Gods, I can’t breathe--”

“Here, sit. It’s alright. I’ll explain everything.” Julian takes Asra by the forearm and tries to steer him toward the bed, but stops when he feels Asra freeze up in fear at his touch. He meets Asra’s eyes with a hesitant frown. “Asra, please, you don’t look well.”

Asra looks like he might faint. His curiosity has been left at the head of the staircase. He’s quivering all over, even his lower lip. “No… I know why you’re here,” Asra whispers.

Julian’s heart falls into his stomach. Guilt surges like the tide and crashes around his shoulders and cuts off his air.

“You’re looking at me… that way, again. I know that look in your eyes. I can’t pretend that you’re here for anything besides-- besides--”

“I want to explain everything to you, but I’m afraid in doing so, I would be putting a target on your head! Asra, you know that I don’t mean to hurt you!” Julian brings his other hand to try to touch Asra’s shoulder, but Asra shrugs him away.

“Don’t you?” Asra hisses. “Hasn’t all of this been a ruse from the beginning? A perverted little cat-and-mouse game for you? After all, what _vampire_ doesn’t mean to hurt his victim?”

Julian flinches at the dreaded word. He knew it was coming, but that didn’t make it sting any less. In Vesuvia, it’s become the worst insult of all, something you reserve for your most reviled enemies. “Everything is so complicated,” Julian mutters.

“I can’t believe that I allowed myself to put my faith in you. Everything between us was a lie, wasn’t it?”

“No! I swear on my life--”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence, you-- you overgrown mosquito!” Asra strides across the room to his bed and lifts up the pillow to reveal a sharp wooden stake, which he clutches in both hands and points directly up into Julian’s face. “I don’t want to do this, Julian,” Asra barks, but his voice wavers. “If you g-go now, I won’t have to hurt you, and I w-won’t tell anyone!”

Julian focuses on the point of the stake and tries to think. He could leave now. Lucio would be furious with him, perhaps even punish him for bringing him all the way out into the open city for nothing, but Asra would be safe and happy. Or… Lucio would come up here and finish the job himself. He would know that Asra is ready to break down at a single touch, he would smell it with that damned nose of his and he would use it to his advantage, and he would not be nearly as gentle as Julian wants to be. If Julian leaves now, Asra would be left up to the whims of the sadistic criminal Count. 

He has brought Asra a death trap right into his apartment. 

But… if he goes through with it… if he takes what he needs, and only what he needs, Asra could recover, and forget, and be safe from harm with the mark of a vampire…

Well. Now is as good a time as any to test whatever black magic has made its home in his body.

Julian switches his gaze to Asra’s face. He feels something coursing through him, something that is just as alive as he is, something that is rising from him like swirls of sweet-smelling mist. “You’ll understand, I promise,” he says gently, “and I’ll keep it from hurting until you fall asleep.”

“I’ll run you through,” Asra squeaks.

“Now, dear, you’ll get splinters from that dreadful thing.” It takes effort to keep from breaking eye contact, but he doesn’t, and he holds Asra captive in his eyes as he reaches out and places his hand on the stake to pull it from his grip. Asra lets it go without an ounce of defiance. 

“Oh,” the magician breathes. “No, this-- what is this? What are you doing?”

Julian drops the stake to the floor and steps over it towards his prey. His stomach is churning at Asra’s countenance, as his anger slips away with the effects of the enchantment to be replaced with sleepy confusion. How can Lucio enjoy this? How can he take so much pleasure in this magic that he practices and perfects his technique? Julian wants to vomit. 

“You should sit down,” Julian suggests.

“This magic is-- Julian, I can’t move, I can’t think, I-- oogh...”

Asra’s head lolls forward and Julian catches him just in time. His dainty legs have buckled at the knees, and his arms have gone limp, and he doesn’t seem to have the strength or the will to stop Julian from hoisting him onto the bed. 

And now Asra is splayed out and helpless. His eyes are open, but only just, and they’re fighting to stay that way. His nightshirt pools around him on the blankets. The column of his throat shines like liquid caramel in the candlelight. Warmth surrounds every inch of him, that intoxicating heady human warmth that Julian misses more than anything, and it’s softer than cashmere and sweeter than perfume.

Oh, but this is dangerous. Julian is salivating and he hates himself for it. He cups one of Asra’s cheeks in one corpse’s hand and almost moans at the sensation. “You really are an angel,” he rasps. “I wanted to tell you every day-- my guardian angel, come to hell to visit me.”

“Mmn…”

“Asra, I was so selfish. I am so terribly selfish. I was crazed with starvation, and I made a deal, and now I’ve put you in this position… if I could take it back, I would, my dearest, loveliest friend. Can you hear me? Can you understand me?”

Asra blinks blearily up at him. After a moment of consideration, the magician lifts his head and presses his lips to Julian’s.

Taken aback, Julian flinches from the warmth, but recovers within seconds to cradle Asra’s head in his hands so he can kiss him back with ten times the fervor. The inside of Asra’s mouth tastes of smoky black tea. The muscles within are hot and pulsing, ever-changing, his tongue is pliant and willing. Only when he feels Asra’s breaths stuttering under the onslaught of his own tongue does he pull away. “Mhah… c-cold,” Asra pants.

“Sorry. I’m getting used to it too.”

Asra tries to wiggle around so he can kiss Julian’s palm too. Little bursts of delight explode where his lips meet skin. “D-do… it,” he whimpers. “Don’t w-wait.”

“Asra, I--”

“I won’t t-turn, will I? That isn’t how it works?”

Julian sighs. “You won’t. I would never put you through it. It’s a long and painful process.” With his free hand, he lowers Asra back to the bed and runs the tips of his fingers down the column of Asra’s pretty neck. Asra is velvet and threaded pearls, and the petals of a summer rose, and so very very breakable.

“You’ll d-die if I… if you don’t… yes?”

“Yes,” the doctor whispers. His bony hand finds the ridge of Asra’s collarbone and a lusty groan bubbles up in his throat. 

When Asra swallows, his throat bobs, and Julian whines and dives down to sample his Adam's apple. “Oah-- Julian-- I told you I t-trusted you, and I-- I do! I shouldn't, but I do! Is it the sp-ell? Your spell?”

He doesn’t know. He doesn’t care. The salt of Asra’s skin fills his senses until there is no coherent thought left in his mind. This is what he was made for, what Lucio made him for, and at last he understands why. Asra’s voice is distant, inconsequential-- until it grows high and desperate. Julian raises himself to check on Asra, and regrets himself at once. Asra is sniffling and crying and broken into Julian’s hand.

“Love? Oh, I’m sorry, my love, I’m sorry!”

“Please!” Asra sobs. He even tilts his head back to arch his neck in the most exquisite way. “Do it! Just f-finish it! Julian, I’m so afraid!”

Julian shushes him and nuzzles into his ear. “Don’t be frightened. I’ll keep my head, I promise, I promise. Close your eyes and just relax.”

“I… trust you...”

After taking a moment to examine Asra’s perfect throat, Julian sinks down, jaw unhinging, and his fangs cut through unmarked skin like butter. Everything falls away. Asra’s blood does not disgust him, does not taste like salt and iron-- it’s sweet as honey and all-consuming as alcohol. The gnawing pain in the pit of Julian’s stomach ebbs away at long last. The two of them are weightless and floating in a vast ocean of happiness. He can feel every beat of Asra’s heart and every pulsing in his veins and every docile breath, each one sending its own pleasant vibrations through Julian’s body. 

As time passes, as Julian drinks his fill, he can’t help but wonder why Asra is stilling in his arms. The gentle pulses of life are fading. Asra’s comforting warmth is evaporating into the air no matter how hard he clamps his jaws like vices into his flesh. Julian stirs from his trance at this realization and tries to signal Asra’s attention with a hand at his lithe waist. No response. With some disappointment, he releases his meal.

Asra isn’t moving.

The horror of what he has done settles in. If he went too far-- if he killed his angel-- he clutches Asra’s chest to him, frantic, pressing his ear to his chest, waiting, waiting--

\-- and there is a faint heartbeat calling back to him!

He all but melts with joy into Asra’s unconscious body. He feels so bloated, fit to bursting. The smell and taste of blood linger in the air. Though he knows Asra can’t hear, he murmurs Asra’s name like a prayer until it surrounds him like an embrace.

But his reverie is interrupted by the sound of flesh hitting metal. “What a show,” Lucio drawls.

Julian bolts upright and glares at the windowbox, where the disgraced Count is lounging with the smuggest of grins twisting his face. “What are you doing here?” he spits. “How did you get inside?”

“ _Somebody_ left the downstairs window open.”

Julian curses at himself. He wraps his arms around Asra’s body in an attempt to protect him from any potential harm.

Lucio presses on with a wicked smirk. “I thought you were going to pussy out, so I wanted to be here to pick up where you left off. I’m almost impressed you did it. The tongue at his neck was a nice touch.”

“Don’t you dare touch him! We’re leaving right now!”

Lucio raises his eyebrows. “Don’t be so greedy. He’s got a bit left. If you won’t finish him off--”

Julian bares his teeth at the Count, eyes flashing with fury. “If you want him, you’ll have to go through me, you viper!”

“Ooh, you’re no fun. Fine. Does that mean he’s takeout now?”

“I-- what?”

Lucio gestures at the unconscious Asra in the doctor’s arms. “Takeout. To-go. I mean, we aren’t just going to leave him here, are we? We shouldn’t waste a perfectly good meal. Let’s just take him home with us and save him for a rainy day.”

Julian winces at the term ‘meal’. He’s about to reply when there’s a clatter from somewhere on the other side of the apartment. Both his and Lucio’s heads whip around just in time to see a little white snake darting across the floor at top speed. Julian jumps away from Asra’s body, hands flying to the sky, as the snake shimmies onto the magician’s chest and bares its little teeth. It hisses and rears its head. It must have been locked away when Asra noticed Julian had arrived, and gotten loose.

“Eugh! Disgusting!” Lucio tries to snatch at it with his claws but Julian slaps his hand away.

“Don’t! I think it belongs to him!”

Lucio grunts and backs away. “I can’t believe this. We’re just leaving him here? Your damn sentiment is going to be the death of you, Jules, I mean it.”

Julian casts a hopeful gaze at the snake, who glares back at him, unmoving. “I… yes. I know.”

“Fine. Let’s go home.” Lucio takes Julian by the hand. His flesh feels so cold now that Asra’s warmth is swirling in his guts. He wants more than anything to stay, to make sure that Asra wakes up and recovers, but Lucio has that hard look in his eyes that he knows he can’t argue with.

Together, the Count and his doctor leave through the downstairs window into the alley. The moon has risen completely in the blackened sky. It’s shaping up to be a beautiful winter night.


End file.
